Fic: Strachey boys, Tim/Don
Day 9 - cross-posted to mmom
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (the movies)
Pairing: Don Strachey/Tim Callahan
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Wanking
Spoilers: None
Words: 566
Summary: Fun in the summertime...
One Foot on the Gas, One Hand on the Clutch
The water is hot on Tim's hands as he finishes up the dishes and turns off the tap, sweat dripping down his forehead and the small of his back.
Damn, this weather, Tim thinks, drying his hands on a dish towel and glancing out the window to check on Don's progress. He's re-staining the back patio, insisting that it needed to be done before they could have any margaritas or barbeques out there this summer.
Don's crouched low to make sure the oil-based stain goes smoothly on the wood - it's a little frightening how much pride Don takes in that deck, but he did build it and Tim's much more neurotic about other things that he's sure Don finds even stranger. Like dusting on top of the fridge.
But Tim's not thinking about that too hard because Don's t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. It's so wet, it's nearly transparent and Tim can feel his heart give an appreciative and increasingly speedy lub-dub. Don looks surprisingly happy out there in heat...
Tim's own temperature is rising, but it has nothing to do with the heat. He feels a flush rising up his neck as Don turns to a different section and his t-shirt rises just enough to show a tan line and bring Don's gorgeous round ass into view. His body practically gleams with the sweat covering him, and Tim swallows hard at the sight. His husband is a hunk.
He glances around the kitchen in case some random person might be standing there - and checks for Watson too - and when he's assured himself that there's no one else there but him, he fumbles nervously with his fly, furtively shoving his hand the rest of the way into his shorts, groaning with relief when he can curl his hand around his cock.
Oh, God, Don's cargo shorts were riding a whole lot lower. Tim groaned loudly. Normally, he would have stomped out there and told Don to pull up his pants, he was not married to a plumber, but right now, Tim was imagining pressing slick fingers into that ass slowly, slowly and taking Don right there on the porch. Tim glanced over his shoulder and made sure the counter was high enough- yeah, okay, he wasn't going out there right now. He was little bit distracted.
Tim closed his eyes and bit his lip, imagining how Don would react - he was so responsive! And- this was just something Tim would never do in a million years, but the thought of it-- Ohgod, he moaned under his breath, squeezing a bit harder. God, he would stretch Don until he was begging for it, until Don was a squirming, aching mess, his shorts damp in the front.
Jesus, he loved touching Don, loved fingering him, getting him so wound up that he'd beg for Tim's cock even though Donald always said he wasn't much of a bottom. But when he was... Tim could really get him to let go and it was so hot... Okay, the fantasy was one thing, but now he really wanted to haul Don upstairs and do all those things he was imagining until Don's legs were spread wide and he was whimpering at Tim's every touch.
"Honey," Don calls through the sliding glass door, "Think you could give me a hand out here?"
Tim squeaked and then moaned.
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (the movies)
Pairing: Don Strachey/Tim Callahan
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Wanking
Spoilers: None
Words: 566
Summary: Fun in the summertime...
One Foot on the Gas, One Hand on the Clutch
The water is hot on Tim's hands as he finishes up the dishes and turns off the tap, sweat dripping down his forehead and the small of his back.
Damn, this weather, Tim thinks, drying his hands on a dish towel and glancing out the window to check on Don's progress. He's re-staining the back patio, insisting that it needed to be done before they could have any margaritas or barbeques out there this summer.
Don's crouched low to make sure the oil-based stain goes smoothly on the wood - it's a little frightening how much pride Don takes in that deck, but he did build it and Tim's much more neurotic about other things that he's sure Don finds even stranger. Like dusting on top of the fridge.
But Tim's not thinking about that too hard because Don's t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. It's so wet, it's nearly transparent and Tim can feel his heart give an appreciative and increasingly speedy lub-dub. Don looks surprisingly happy out there in heat...
Tim's own temperature is rising, but it has nothing to do with the heat. He feels a flush rising up his neck as Don turns to a different section and his t-shirt rises just enough to show a tan line and bring Don's gorgeous round ass into view. His body practically gleams with the sweat covering him, and Tim swallows hard at the sight. His husband is a hunk.
He glances around the kitchen in case some random person might be standing there - and checks for Watson too - and when he's assured himself that there's no one else there but him, he fumbles nervously with his fly, furtively shoving his hand the rest of the way into his shorts, groaning with relief when he can curl his hand around his cock.
Oh, God, Don's cargo shorts were riding a whole lot lower. Tim groaned loudly. Normally, he would have stomped out there and told Don to pull up his pants, he was not married to a plumber, but right now, Tim was imagining pressing slick fingers into that ass slowly, slowly and taking Don right there on the porch. Tim glanced over his shoulder and made sure the counter was high enough- yeah, okay, he wasn't going out there right now. He was little bit distracted.
Tim closed his eyes and bit his lip, imagining how Don would react - he was so responsive! And- this was just something Tim would never do in a million years, but the thought of it-- Ohgod, he moaned under his breath, squeezing a bit harder. God, he would stretch Don until he was begging for it, until Don was a squirming, aching mess, his shorts damp in the front.
Jesus, he loved touching Don, loved fingering him, getting him so wound up that he'd beg for Tim's cock even though Donald always said he wasn't much of a bottom. But when he was... Tim could really get him to let go and it was so hot... Okay, the fantasy was one thing, but now he really wanted to haul Don upstairs and do all those things he was imagining until Don's legs were spread wide and he was whimpering at Tim's every touch.
"Honey," Don calls through the sliding glass door, "Think you could give me a hand out here?"
Tim squeaked and then moaned.